


Lightbearer

by elennalore



Series: Second Chances [4]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Aman (Tolkien), Enemies to Lovers, Fourth Age, Headcanon, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Post-Canon, Redemption, Second Chances, Trust, Trust Issues, Valinor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:33:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29756901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elennalore/pseuds/elennalore
Summary: Their relationship was once broken, but in Valinor of the Fourth Age, Celebrimbor and Mairon begin their relationship anew. Maeglin has unresolved issues with Mairon, but he finds himself oddly fascinated by his former enemy. Meanwhile, an ominous chain of events is set in motion when a dangerous being escapes from Mandos. Are Celebrimbor and Mairon the only ones who can eliminate the imminent threat of Dagor Dagorath?
Relationships: Celebrimbor | Telperinquar/Sauron | Mairon
Series: Second Chances [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2086146
Comments: 10
Kudos: 42





	1. Letters

**Author's Note:**

> This is the beginning of a longfic that will continue the story of Celebrimbor and Mairon in my Second Chances series. I would recommend reading at least the first part of the series, [Walk Through the Darkest Valley](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26441815/chapters/64422601) first.
> 
> There will be other characters as the story goes on. I have already included them in tags so that you'll know whom to expect.
> 
> This fic will also be my playground for various headcanons.

It must be noted that Celebrimbor wrote the first letter.

It happened one evening when he had come home from his new day job. He had been toying with the idea lately, but he hadn’t planned on doing it that evening. After an early supper, however, he found himself sitting at his desk, a metal pen in hand and an inkpot ready. The white paper was in front of him, and he wondered how to start. He lived alone now; no one would disturb him. He could stay up all night if needed and finally write that letter.

Celebrimbor dipped the quill in the inkpot and wrote the first tengwa. He pressed the pen too hard, though, and the paper was broken. He sighed and took another paper from the pile.

He wrote:

_Dear Mairon,_

_I have kept putting off writing you this letter long enough. You can call me a wimp, for it is because of the lack of courage that I’ve postponed it, and mind you, NOT because I wouldn’t have wanted to write. I’m afraid, ~~Ann~~ Mairon, that if I write to you, and you happen to write me back, it will have consequences. And for a while, I wasn’t sure if I could face those consequences. I am still not sure if this is a sensible thing to do, but I’m tired of being a wimp._

_I write your name instinctively as ‘Annatar’, and then I have to correct it. I am not used to calling you by your real name - old habits die hard. Mairon sounds almost like a stranger. Perhaps we can pretend that we have just met and are slowly getting to know each other. I could add some icebreaker questions like ‘would you rather be the funniest or smartest person in the room’, but then I realize I already know what you would answer. So perhaps I know this Mairon person rather well after all. You can’t deny that Annatar had a lot of Mairon included, can you?_

_How are you? I was so relieved when I heard that the Valar let you live at the Halls of Aulë. You know, I feared for the worst. I don’t expect you to write back, but if you do, please tell me about your life there. Are you content to stay with lord Aulë? Are you treated well? Have you found your way back to the forge?_

_The main reason why I write to you is that without you, my life feels empty. Don’t get me wrong. I live a good life here in Tirion, I have an own apartment, an interesting day job and some new friends. But you’re not here, and I miss you. This is the truth, and it terrifies me. That I’m going to risk everything by inviting you back into my life._

_I understand that you can’t left the Halls of Aulë. But if you want to, we can write to each other. And perhaps I can visit you, some day. Mind you, only if you want to. I don’t expect an answer to this letter. If you don’t want to stay in contact with me, it’s perfectly fine. I can live with it. I just want to tell you that I’m open to re-building our relationship, hopefully to a better ending than last time. (And I remember that you took that oath of not harming me, so I assure you that I feel safe now.)_

_I give this letter to Nerdanel to bring it for you. She surprised me by explaining that she has started to sculpt your statue. I bet she is just curious to learn more about you. I tried to ask her your whereabouts, but she was annoyingly vague._

_If, AND ONLY IF you want to write back, my address is included on the envelope._

_Yours always,  
Tyelpë_

Days turned into weeks, and still there was no reply. The nervousness didn’t leave Celebrimbor. He counted days; surely Nerdanel was back at Aulë’s by now. What if she didn’t remember to give the letter to its recipient? Or what if she had decided to not give that letter to Mairon? She had been unusually reserved when they had talked about her meeting with Mairon; Celebrimbor could imagine that she would want to protect him from another disaster that she might see brewing.

Celebrimbor played with the idea of travelling there himself, but it didn’t feel good. He wasn’t ready to meet with Mairon yet; he didn’t trust his feelings. Thankfully, he had his work. It demanded a great deal of concentration, which was only good. He left early and returned home late, and before all else he checked if there was a letter waiting for him in the box by the door. But there never wasn’t – at least not from a certain Maia he seemed to have again started to generate warm feelings towards.

That evening, Celebrimbor sat in his cosy armchair, reading a progress report on their company’s current study for the next day’s meeting. He had already spotted a crucial problem that had to be solved before they could continue their tests. His mind was playing with different solutions to the annoying routing problem, when he heard a sharp knock on the window.

The sudden sound had disturbed his concentration, and the solution to the problem seemed suddenly very far away. The knocking continued, and Celebrimbor put his papers down and stood up with a sigh. It had been a windy day, and the knocking sounded like a tree branch hitting the glazed window. It was odd; there wasn’t a tree so close that its branches would have reached the window of his room. Did trees move? In Middle-earth perhaps, but in Valinor, everything was more stationary. It would have been unheard of. More curious than annoyed now, he pulled the curtains aside.

He found himself facing a black crow that sat on the windowsill and looked at him with black beady eyes. When Celebrimbor continued the stare the all-too intelligent-looking bird, it gave an impatient knock with its beak.

“All right, all right,” he said aloud, fumbling with the opening mechanism of the window. Finally the window opened and cool night wind filled the room. The crow looked around before entering.

“Um, hello,” Celebrimbor said to the bird. Now more than ever he wished that he could speak the language of the beasts like his uncle. “Welcome. I wonder if you were sent here by... aha!”

Celebrimbor had noticed a small leather backpack the crow was wearing. The bird stayed quite still and co-operative when Celebrimbor opened the tiny buckle and took a folded paper out. The crow was either well trained or under a powerful spell.

His hands were slightly trembling as he opened the many folds of the paper. He recognized Mairon’s slanted handwriting at once. The crow flew to sit on the top of his bookshelf while he read:

_My dearest Celebrimbor,_

_How can I express the gratitude and pure joy I felt when I got your letter? I have no words for it. I had thought it quite possible that you wouldn’t want to be in contact with me ever again. It seems that I have once again underestimated your strength of will and your bravery. You wrote that you’re going to risk everything by inviting me back into your life. That’s bravery, Tyelpë. (Some would say foolhardiness. Not me. But you must be ready for this reaction if you want to continue our relationship.) This time, I try to be worthy of your trust._

_I’m good, actually. Living with Aulë is easy, I know his ways and he knows mine. And yes, I’m treated well. Of course, my being here doesn’t please everyone, but I try my best not to cause trouble and avoid those who find my presence irksome. I won’t call this place home, but I know I’m lucky to be allowed to live here. I’m lucky to be allowed to live outside Mandos._

_Still, I must admit that I am somewhat bored. I have got access to the forges, but I’m lacking inspiration to create, and to be honest it bothers me a lot. The lack of inspiration contradicts my own essence; it’s like an illness of mind. Nerdanel’s visit was a welcome change. Your grandmother is a fascinating person! Did you know that you share the same passion of creation? I enjoyed watching her sculpting; it was like watching you at work._

_I would like to watch you being immersed in one of your creative projects once more. I imagine you are already involved in some new project there in Tirion. Am I right? If I know you at all, you don’t want to stay idle in this new life of yours._

_~~I wish we could once more create something together.~~ _

_But that is a dangerous wish, isn’t it?_

_Please tell me something about your new life, Tyelpë. How are you, my dearest elf? You mentioned that you have a job, but you didn’t go into details. Do you even have to work here? I thought that the Valar take care of everyone._

_I would be glad to continue our correspondence, and if you want to visit me some day – that would make me extremely happy._

_(The crow that brought you the letter is called Khâu. It can take your letter back to me, if you want to. If you would be so kind as to give him some food before he flies back.)_

_Yours always,  
Mairon_

Celebrimbor went to the kitchen looking for some food for Mairon’s crow. He returned with some hazelnuts and cookies. The progress report could wait. He made room on the desk for his writing equipment. He shouldn’t let the crow waiting; it was best to write back at once, even though he hadn’t got time to think of what he really wanted to say. Perhaps he could start by answering Mairon’s questions.

_Dear Mairon,_

_Thank you for your letter. Your crow surprised me, but he’s well behaved; he is eating some nuts and cookie crumbs beside me as I write this. I am happy to send your letters by carrier crow if you prefer this. But allow me to ask: do you really not trust our postal service? Or is this another of your little quirks, Mairon? Please enlighten me._

_I got my own apartment in Tirion not long after we parted ways, and I have started life anew here. My new home is in a large complex of buildings that is reserved for returning elves. It has counselling service and reorientation courses, but I’ve been too shy to participate. I’m too well known here and people seem to consider me being traumatized; which I don’t think I am – not after I met you in this life (and it’s important for me that you know this, too). I’ve got some help to adjust myself to my new life from my kinsman Finrod who lives not far away. He’s like a second father to me._

_Yes, I got a job, as well. There was a great opportunity, and you’re right, idleness doesn’t suit me. You seem to be well informed; the Valar take care of our basic needs, so you’ll survive without having a job. However, many of us appreciate the extra money that comes with it, or just want to have a sense of purpose, or to give back to the society._

_I work in a guild of craftsmen who study the properties of the palantíri, and possible uses for them. I suppose you are familiar with the concept of palantír? One of the members of the guild was Armanil from Gwaith-i-Mírdain (he was the one who accidentally burned your hem), and he invited me there. They are happy to have the grandchild of the inventor of palantíri working with them, although I try to remind them that I don’t know any of Fëanor’s secrets. But it’s inspiring work nevertheless. We try to develop them further – the ones that are left, that is. No one has succeeded in creating a palantír after Fëanor._

_But enough about me! I’m sorry to hear that you feel the lack of inspiration. For me, it sounds like you still need time to cope with your new situation. I know it can be hard, but I trust lord Aulë has your best interests in mind. Perhaps you can talk to him; perhaps lord Aulë can help you find some meaningful work there._

_Good to hear you got along with Nerdanel. I must ask her to tell all about your meeting when I see her next time. What about the sculpture itself, is it ready yet? I would like to see it._

_And I would like to see YOU. I promise that I’ll come some day, but I’m not ready yet. Please give me time, Mairon._

_See, I don’t think you as Annatar anymore. We can do this._

_Please write back soon! I enclose my kiss with this letter._

_Yours always,  
Tyelpë_

He folded the finished letter carefully and put it inside the little pouch the crow was carrying. When he opened the window, the crow cawed and promptly flew away. Already he was waiting for the next letter.

When he heard the already familiar sharp knock on the window glass one evening, he jumped on his feet and hurried to let the crow in.

This time, however, Mairon’s letter was shorter, its contents trivial. He wrote Celebrimbor anecdotes of his daily life, but the mood of the letter was oddly subdued. Compared to the previous letter this one felt withdrawn and cold. Celebrimbor was worried. He hoped that Mairon wasn’t having second thoughts about their relationship. The only part of the letter that showed his emotions at all was in the ending:

_I imagine you reading this letter when the moon shines over Tirion. How I wish I was there with you._

When the moon shines? Celebrimbor felt his heartbeat quicken, and not because of the romantic word choice. It was a message, a secret message!

Without waiting any further, he took the letter and ran out of his apartment, leaving Khâu behind eating bread crumbles Celebrimbor had hastily found for the crow. It was a clear night, like it usually was in Valinor. He ran across the yard and to the street that led to one of the terrace gardens. The moon would be visible from there, if he was not mistaken. The elves he met on his way there looked at him with wondering eyes. In his haste to reach the terrace as soon as possible he didn’t have time to explain.

When he re-opened the letter in bright light of almost full moon, he saw at once that his hunch had been right. New, silvery letters appeared on the paper between the rows of normal writing. They were so bright that he had no difficulty reading them in the moonlight.

He read:

_Good job, Tyelpë! If you read this, I declare you worthy of my love. Seriously, I would be surprised if you missed my hint._

_There are things I rather not write down in normal script. Perhaps I’m overly cautious, but I prefer that some things should not be apparent._

_I miss you, Tyelpë. I miss you almost as much as I miss my Master in the Void. But missing you doesn’t make me feel miserable, on the contrary, it gives me strength. For there’s little hope that I see Melkor again, whereas I can hope that one day you’ll come to visit me, and we will be united like we’re destined to be. Yes, I know you can feel it, too. And I know that this knowledge is partly what still keeps you away from me._

_Don’t try to escape your destiny. It won’t do you any good._

_But I can wait for you, and I will._

For a long time, Celebrimbor just stood there in the moonlight, staring into the night. Mairon’s words had left him breathless. There was a connection between them, had been a long time, and Mairon felt it, too. Only now Celebrimbor started to understand the enormity of such fate. It could survive even death and rebirth.

“Did I want this?” he asked aloud from no one. The answer, he reluctantly admitted to himself, was that yes, he had wanted it, and wanted it still. Without Mairon, his life just didn’t feel complete. He tried to analyse what he felt. It was like he was in love. He could almost call it an obsession. He had seen obsession at work before: Fëanor’s obsession with the Silmarils, or Mairon’s obsession with the Rings. But that was still different. There was no hope that crystal or gold would love you back. But to be loved by a Maia, one of those holy beings... that was something else. To seek that kind of connection, that was a worthy pursuit. Even if it burned.

“One day soon, I will come back to you,” he whispered. His Maia wasn’t there to hear him, but he would write him and tell him this. “Just give me some more time before you shake my world again.”

He wished he had a silver pen. Without it, he couldn’t write a reply to Mairon with moon-letters. Perhaps he could ask if uncle Finrod had one; they were going to meet next week anyway. Meanwhile, he wrote a hasty letter that said all too little. Frustrated, he gave the letter to Mairon’s carrier crow.

* * * * *

“Do you happen to own a silver pen?” Celebrimbor asked. “I’m looking for one to borrow.”

Finrod smiled at him knowingly, sipping his afternoon tea. “You want to write invisible messages? They can be quite fun. I think I have one somewhere... I must go through my things when I get home.”

It was the day of their weekly walk that had become a habit after Celebrimbor moved to Tirion. This time they had walked all the way to a nice tea house in the outskirts of Tirion. Finrod seemed to know lots of cosy places like that. It was another sunny day in Valinor. The lack of change in weather had felt strange for Celebrimbor after his rebirth, but he had already got used to the comfort of amiable climate. He couldn’t claim to miss long periods of constant rain or harsh winters of Middle-earth.

The walks with Finrod were always a pleasant pastime. The birds started singing in the trees when they walked by; Finrod had such an effect on them. His words always made Celebrimbor feel light-hearted and optimistic; this day was no exception. Many elves came to greet Finrod as they walked past little shops and houses along Tirion’s narrow cobblestone streets. He was their prince, and the people of Tirion loved his jovial manners. Celebrimbor was formally introduced to many of the inhabitants, and while most of them quickly understood that he was one of the Fëanorians, they seemed to have difficulty in finding a proper way to address him. Some called him prince, which bewildered him; a couple of them would have probably called him something vile if Finrod had not been there. That part of their walk wasn’t so pleasant after all. He had been happy when they finally reached the tea house. The tea-lady was a purple-robed elleth with a nice smile. She guided them to a solitary gazebo out of sight.

They were enjoying house tea and scones in relative privacy, and Celebrimbor had just remembered to ask about the silver pen, when Finrod surprised him by commenting: “You look happy, Tyelpë. Have you met someone special?”

Celebrimbor gave a nervous chuckle. Uncle Finrod had always been so very observant. There was no way he could tell him about his correspondence, but Finrod would sense a blatant lie, Celebrimbor was sure of it.

“I don’t know. Maybe. It’s a bit complicated at the moment. I’d rather not talk about it just now.”

“Ah!” Finrod seemed happier than should have been possible when he heard his tentative words. “By any chance, do you need my silver pen for writing secret love letters?” His eyes glimmered with amusement.

Celebrimbor felt himself blushing. He couldn’t meet Finrod’s eyes.

“I hope all the best!” Finrod told him happily. “You deserve to be lucky in love!”

Celebrimbor gave an embarrassed nod, hoping that Finrod would just change the subject. “This scone is very delicious, isn’t it?” Celebrimbor tried weakly, already knowing that Finrod’s curiosity wasn’t yet fulfilled.

“Is she one of your colleagues?”

Celebrimbor swallowed. “Kind of. And it’s a ‘he’, not ‘she’.

Now he could see Finrod was a little embarrassed himself. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been making assumptions. It’s okay, Tyelpë. Is that why you don’t want to talk about it? There are many elves whose one love is of the same gender. Your uncle Maedhros, to name one...”

“I know of Maedhros and Fingon.” Celebrimbor couldn’t fully hide the irritation in his voice. “And I’m completely okay with same-sex relationships. But I really don’t want to talk about this just now. Can we change the subject, please?”

“Ah, of course. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” Finrod said with an apologetic smile. “About that silver pen, though... What would you think of a dinner tomorrow? If I manage to find my silver pen, I can give it to you there.”

“A dinner with you?”

“Yes, and with my parents as well. We have planned a small family gathering tomorrow evening. At the palace. You will be welcome there; I know that father would very much like to meet you again.”

Celebrimbor thought about king Finarfin, or Arafinwë as they called him in Tirion. It was a long time since he’d seen him last time, and not once in this life. He had been strangely reluctant to meet his great-uncle after his re-embodiment. They hardly knew each other, and he feared Finarfin had to think of him more as Curufin’s son and Fëanor’s grandson rather than himself. But he couldn’t avoid his relatives for ever, and this informal arrangement sounded far better a chance for first meeting than one of the big feasts and celebrations the king of the Noldor arranged every now and then.

“Are you sure they don’t mind?” Celebrimbor still asked. “I don’t want to interfere...”

“Nonsense!” Finrod exclaimed in his usual jovial manner. “Father will be pleased, I’m sure of it. You’ll be my guest. And I’ll bring you the pen.”

“Ah, I’ll come, if you really insist it’s a good idea. It’s your family dinner after all.”

“And you’re part of the family! Speaking of which, Fingolfin will be there, too.”

His words almost made Celebrimbor to spill his tea. “And how many others?”

“Just Anairë. It’ll be just an informal dinner.”

“Oh, sure.”

“So you will be there?”

Celebrimbor thought about moon-letters. Mairon would write back soon, and next time Celebrimbor wanted to surprise him with a secret message of his own. “I’ll be there. Don’t forget the silver pen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments always make my day.


	2. Dinner with the Kings

Celebrimbor gave a determined nod to his mirror image. Whatever Finrod had said about an informal dinner, he would still be the only Fëanorian present, alone representing his infamous family. It was his duty to perform the task well.

The dark blue cloak he pulled over his other garments had beautiful golden embroidery. It was an ancient piece of garment that had belonged to his grandfather, but Nerdanel had backed it with him nevertheless when he moved from her place to Tirion. It had clearly meant Nerdanel a lot, so Celebrimbor had accepted her valuable gift. The fabric should have been worn out over time by now, but for some reason the cloak still looked like new. It was woven by Míriel and still held a touch of her magic.

Nerdanel had given him other personal possessions of Fëanor, too. Tonight, Celebrimbor felt bold enough to wear a red and gold Fëanorian star on his breast, one that his grandfather had crafted himself. His inner robes were red and black and looked rather fancy. Not his usual garments, definitely, but it was a special occasion. At least there was no scabbard nor sword in his belt like Fëanor might have had. He wore golden earrings and over his forehead, a matching diadem. Tonight, he wasn’t going to wear his usual silver but more regal gold. He had left his long hair free and there were additional rings on his fingers besides Narya. Now he was ready to go. Before leaving, he remembered to leave his window slightly open for Khâu; if Mairon had written back as soon as he got his last letter, his reply would arrive perhaps even tonight.

When Celebrimbor arrived at the palace area and introduced himself, a servant in the official uniform of the king promptly welcomed him. Clearly it had been announced to the doorman that he would appear tonight. Celebrimbor was guided up the staircase and through the whole magnificent building, but they didn’t end up in the dining room as he had expected. Instead he was shown the lavishly decorated pair of doors, and then he was back outside. Celebrimbor found himself standing on a large terrace that faced the city below.

It didn’t take him long to spot Finrod who stood his back towards him, enjoying the night view with king Finarfin and a dark cloaked elf who was no other than Fingolfin himself. The servant rang a beautiful-sounding bell to announce their guest. When the royal Noldor one by one turned to face him, Celebrimbor tried to stand tall and not show the nervousness he suddenly felt.

“Good evening,” he said and gave a little smile. “My king,” he continued, bowing to Finarfin. When he rose again his eyes met with Fingolfin’s; there was a curious expression on his face. “My kings,” Celebrimbor added and bowed before Fingolfin as well. It seemed only proper; Fingolfin had been his king longer than Finarfin.

“Tyelpë!” Finrod came to embrace him. His enthusiasm gave Celebrimbor well-needed courage. “Good to see you here. You look absolutely gorgeous! I have never seen you wearing that beautiful cloak before, where did you got it?”

Celebrimbor saw Fingolfin and Finarfin discussing together in lowered voices. They had just said something that seemed to amuse themselves a lot, and Finrod who could hear them better from where he stood gave Celebrimbor an amiable grin.

“What are they talking about?” Celebrimbor asked, fingering his rings. Narya felt unusually warm, as was often the case when he was tense.

“They were commenting on how like Fëanor you look,” Finrod confirmed his doubts.

Celebrimbor raised his chin proudly, but then his great-uncles were already coming closer. Fingolfin was the first of them to greet him. He held him in a warm embrace for a long time. King Finarfin was more formal, but not unfriendly, and his welcoming words were kind. Celebrimbor felt himself slowly relaxing. They were his family, too.

“How are you, dear child?” Fingolfin asked him while they were walking along the terrace to the other side where the dinner table was set for them. Fingolfin’s eyes were sharp as they were studying him, and Celebrimbor knew he was looking for signs of unhealed trauma. Unlike his brother, Fingolfin knew how it was to die a violent death and then come back.

“I’m good. Really, I am.”

“I heard you were somehow involved in the capture of Sauron,” Fingolfin continued, scrutinizing him. They were lagging behind; the others wouldn’t hear this private conversation, which was totally intentional, Celebrimbor now understood.

“Yes, that’s true.”

“Was that wise of you to confront him again? Considering...”

 _Was it wise of you to confront Morgoth?_ Celebrimbor thought, surprised by the fleeting bitterness that momentarily filled his mind. In the end he only said: “It ended well, as I knew it would.”

Fingolfin continued to study him with his piercing blue eyes, but thankfully he dropped the subject. “Have you seen your parents?”

In this life, he meant. “My mother, yes. Although she spends a lot of time at her cottage in the Pelóri, so she’s not often around.”

“And what about your father?”

Celebrimbor sighed deeply. This was just why he had been reluctant to meet his relatives. They always wanted to know about his father or uncles or grandfather. Morbid curiosity.

“It’s best that we don’t see each other. I hope you understand why. I wrote him a letter, told him that I’ve returned,” he added so that Fingolfin wouldn’t think of him as cold-hearted. Although Curufin must already have heard that from Nerdanel. His father never wrote back to him, either because he obeyed Celebrimbor’s order not to write, or because he just didn’t want to.

“And still you wear their emblems,” Fingolfin said, nodding towards the Fëanorian star on his chest.

“They are my emblems, too,” Celebrimbor said stubbornly.

Fingolfin gave a little laugh. “You know, you remind me of my dead brother. And that’s a compliment,” he added hastily, seeing Celebrimbor’s expression. “That ring of yours, it’s powerful. Is it one of the three you made?”

He let Fingolfin study his fingered hand. It seemed that the old king had a lot of insight about unseen things. “Yes, it’s Narya, the ring of fire.”

“Why am I not surprised that your element is fire?” Fingolfin said, and his eyes twinkled, but then he sobered. “This is what Sauron tried to take from you, isn’t it?”

“He didn’t succeed. I had given them to others for safe-keeping. And now, without his own ring, it’s useless to him,” he explained, although he could remember how his ring seemed to have revitalized Mairon. “Mairon took an oath of not harming me again,” he found himself adding.

“Mairon?”

“That’s his original Maia name. Sauron’s.”

“You call him admirable?”

Fortunately for Celebrimbor, they had reached the dinner table where the others were already waiting for them, and he didn’t have to answer. There was Anairë, Fingolfin’s wife, whom he hardly remembered. She was discussing with a light-haired woman who had to be queen Eärwen. Finrod’s fiancée was not present, but Celebrimbor wasn’t surprised. Finrod had told him that Amarië served lady Vána, one of the Valier; she lived at her court and seldom visited Tirion. Celebrimbor bowed and greeted the women courteously, and they looked at him with curious eyes.

“Valar, he really looks like Fëanáro!” exclaimed Anairë, amused.

“Only he has a more amiable smile,” Eärwen commented.

Finrod grinned at Celebrimbor, waving him to sit down. A servant poured them sparkling wine from a bottle.

“Tyelperinquar is almost as bright as him, too,” king Finarfin said; his approval warmed Celebrimbor. “Findaráto told me that you work with a guild that tries to understand how the _palantíri_ work. It’s an ambitious task, but one that could greatly benefit our society.”

“Thank you, my king.” He felt himself blushing again. He should stop feeling so nervous with them; they were his relatives!

“I’d like to propose a toast,” Finrod interrupted and raised his glass of sparkling wine. “To Celebrimbor and his happy return.”

They all raised their glasses, saluting him, and the tension that Fingolfin’s sharp questions had caused started to lessen.

The food that was served was excellent and more luxurious than what he was used to. It reminded him of his life in Nargothrond. He mentioned that to Finrod, and for a while they continued to share happy memories and funny anecdotes of their life in Middle-earth. Those who hadn’t been there listened to them with interest. But of course, as it always happened when he was thinking of those days, the memories became gradually tainted with sorrowful events; Celebrimbor’s eyes filled with sudden tears and the discussion faded out.

It was Finarfin who finally decided to change the subject. “Enough of gloomy Middle-earth! I’d like to know more about your new life in Valinor, Tyelperinquar.”

“Well, it’s nothing special really...” he started, but then he told them about the guild of craftsmen that had invited him to study the properties of _palantíri_ with them.

“We don’t know how they work,” he told them, “And if Fëanor ever had any notes he had taken them with him to Middle-earth and they are vanished. Although I think there never were any notes; he probably kept all of it in his memory. He had a perfect memory.”

“Indeed he had,” Fingolfin agreed.

“I wish that he would be released from Mandos if only to share with us everything he knows,” Celebrimbor found himself saying. The amount of lost information had greatly bothered him lately.

“Mandos has his reasons for keeping him,” king Finarfin said in a voice that told Celebrimbor that he should tread carefully there. He knew they thought of the prophecy Mandos had made about the world’s end and Dagor Dagorath. For them, returning of Fëanor would mark that the end of the world was near; a fearsome thing. Celebrimbor didn’t see it that way. He had long since decided that he didn’t believe in prophecies. For him, it seemed that it was the act of believing in itself that put them to action. But he knew better than to say something like that in this dinner table. It was something he could only discuss with like-minded beings, like with Mairon.

“So you can’t make any more of these _palantíri_?” Anairë asked before he could say something the others would find disturbing.

“No, we can’t. And there are so few of them left here. The Númenoreans took some of them to Middle-earth, but they are out of our reach.”

An idea hit him like a lightning-strike. He remembered being told that Mairon had been in possession of one of the seeing stones in Middle-earth. He should ask Mairon if he had come to understand its principles of working any better than their guild. Mairon could have useful insights on their current problem with controlling the stones. He should definitely ask Mairon for advice in his next letter.

No, he knew what he really needed to do. The letters were too slow way of changing ideas of this magnitude. He needed to meet Mairon and discuss the matter thoroughly. It was a matter of utmost importance.

He put the fork and knife down; his hands were suddenly shaking but he tried to calm himself. The others shouldn’t know what he was thinking. He knew now that he was going to meet Mairon soon. He had finally made his decision.

“Did you bring your silver pen?” he now asked Finrod.

“Oh, I had almost forgotten.” Finrod took something out of his pouch. “Here it is.”

He gave the pen to Celebrimbor and he quickly pocketed it before anyone could start asking questions. Fingolfin eyed him suspiciously; he seemed to have sensed his nervousness, but thankfully no more awkward questions were asked.

After the dessert Celebrimbor felt more relaxed. Overall, it had been a pleasant evening. Finrod had always been very supportive, but it was heart-warming to know that his other relatives, too, wanted to strengthen the family ties.

It was a warm night, and when Finrod suggested that they could take a walk around the terrace that surrounded one of the palace towers, Celebrimbor agreed at once. He wanted to watch the magnificent view from the other side. Colourful lanterns had been lit here and there, but their gentle light didn’t dim Varda’s stars. As always, Celebrimbor’s eyes instantly found his favourite constellations in the sky: delicate Wilwarin and powerful Soronúmë. The moon was rising from the east. Suddenly, a shooting star appeared from nowhere, and he gave an exclamation of delight and tried to show it to Finrod, but it was already gone.

It would grant him a wish, though, so he wished that he would see Mairon soon and that their meeting would go well.

They spent a long time enjoying the view of Tirion and the surrounding mountains of the Pelóri, as well as the sea that glimmered in starlight.

“Do you like it here?” Finrod broke the silence.

“Yes, I guess. Although...This place is different from Middle-earth, and Middle-earth was my home for so long...”

“I know what you mean.” Finrod’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I felt more alive there.”

Celebrimbor nodded. “I can say the same. Although I died, eventually.” He gave a nervous laugh. “That happened to almost all of us.”

Finrod turned to look at him, but just when Celebrimbor started to think that his words had disturbed his friend, he saw a twinkle in Finrod’s eyes and a trace of smile on his lips.

“You’re right,” said Finrod. “That place was nothing if not perilous. And still I miss it sometimes. I miss the company of men; I even miss the dwarves.”

“I miss them, too,” Celebrimbor had to agree. “Especially the dwarves.”

They were silent for a long time until Finrod’s next words pushed Celebrimbor out of his reverie.

“Look at that bird! It looks like it’s staring at us.” There was a note of foreboding in Finrod’s voice.

Celebrimbor turned his head and saw a black crow that stood on the balcony rail in the farthest corner from them. The crow tilted its head slightly as if to dare him to come closer. It was certainly Khâu; he could almost see the little letter-bag it was carrying. It looked like there was some kind of magical barrier that kept the crow for entering the palace area, unless it just had good manners and didn’t want to interrupt them.

Well, it had interrupted them anyway, and Celebrimbor saw suspicion growing in Finrod’s eyes. A tiny part of him that feared the imminent disapproval of others wished to drive the crow away, but what if it wouldn’t come back to him later? He had been waiting for Mairon’s letter too long already. Why hadn’t the stupid bird flown straight to his place as usual?

“I know this crow,” he commented before Finrod could shoo it away. “It has something for me.”

With quick steps, he crossed the terrace to the decorated rail where Khâu was still patiently waiting. The crow didn’t struggle as he opened the leather pouch and took out a folded paper. "Fly now,” he said to the bird in a lowered voice. “Go to my place if you want to, the window is open and I have left you some nuts on the table. I’ll be there later.”

The crow flew away without further ado. Celebrimbor pocketed the letter together with the silver pen; he didn’t dare to unfold the paper yet. Finrod was already there beside him; his expression was unreadable.

“What in the world just happened?” Finrod’s voice was oddly taut. “Are the crows of Valinor carrying messages now?”

“No - I mean yes.” Celebrimbor didn’t want to lie. “But just this particular one. It’s a trained carrier crow.”

Finrod gave a dry humph. “More like an enchanted crow. Did you see the threads of song circling it? Of course not,” he continued when Celebrimbor shook his head. “In some respects, you’re unbelievably blind. But I saw it, and I happen to know that song well. That crow belongs to Sauron!”

Celebrimbor lowered his eyes; he didn’t dare to meet Finrod’s ice-cold gaze now. “You are right, I’m afraid. We have been writing to each other lately.”

Finrod extended his hand, palm up. “Give me the letter.”

“No. It’s personal.”

Finrod grasped his upper arm, startling him. For a moment Celebrimbor feared that he would try to take the letter from him by force, but then Finrod let go of him and retreated, his voice slightly cracking as he spoke: “I don’t understand. He tortured you!”

And once again Celebrimbor found himself explaining their strange relationship. He hoped he would get used to it soon. He told about the oath Mairon had taken; that seemed to reassure people. He even spoke about the forgotten knowledge Mairon could have about the _palantíri_.

In the end, Finrod was silent for a long time. “That silver pen,” he said at last, “you were going to write moon-letters to him, weren’t you?”

Celebrimbor nodded slowly. “I just wanted it for some more... personal things.”

“Oh, Valar, I see it now! It was him you talk about in the tea house yesterday! You have developed feelings towards him.”

“Please, uncle, I’d rather not talk about this now.”

“On the contrary, this is something I have to tell my father. The king needs to know that you’re corresponding with the enemy.”

 _The enemy_. Finrod’s harsh words hit Celebrimbor like a whip. He didn’t want him to make it a bigger matter than it already was, but he didn’t dare to stop Finrod as he marched away leaving him alone at the vantage point. It was impossible to enjoy the marvellous view anymore. Running away was an option, but in the end, he decided to stay. He wasn’t known to run away from his problems, and he wasn’t going to start now.

It didn’t take long until Finrod returned with king Finarfin. To Celebrimbor’s annoyance, Fingolfin followed in their wake. Celebrimbor’s nerves were on edge, but he knew better than to voice his objections. He tried to stay calm, just like he imagined Annatar would have been in the same situation, raising his eyebrow a little and giving a nod that could be seen encouraging.

“Well?” he said, and the questions started again.

“I don’t forbid you from writing to him,” the king said after listening his impromptu speech of defence. “It’s not my business. But as your relative, I must say that I’m worried, Tyelperinquar.”

“We all are worried,” Fingolfin said. This time, Celebrimbor forced himself to withstood his piercing eyes. “Long ago, our brother thought he could learn from Morgoth. It didn’t end well.”

“I’m not Fëanor,” Celebrimbor answered as calm as he could. “You don’t have to worry. The Valar have made sure that Mairon has lost his powers. I’m not looking for power or learning. Not anymore. He’s my friend. I know he’s lonely, and if he finds happiness in my letters, it can’t be a bad thing.”

“I want to meet him,” king Finarfin said, surprising him. “I’ll speak to the Valar. It should be possible to arrange. The Noldor have suffered greatly because of him.” The king went suddenly silent and glimpsed Finrod by his side. Celebrimbor felt sick.

“I’m sorry to have caused all this turmoil,” Celebrimbor finally said, already preparing to leave. There had been enough drama for one family dinner. His hand found a piece of paper in his pocket; Mairon’s letter. Warmth filled his heart despite everything.

“Your problem is,” Finrod said to him, “that you don’t believe that evil exists.”

One of the servants guided Celebrimbor out, choosing to ignore the tense atmosphere. He walked along the streets of Tirion until he was sure that he wasn’t followed. Then he sat down on a bench in a square with a fountain and enough moonlight to read the moon script. There was normal writing as well, but even his elf eyes were not sharp enough to read it in the night.

The moon-letters appeared instantly.

_I hope my bold words didn’t scare you away, Tyelpë. Your answer was short and said nothing about your feelings. I almost feel now that I shouldn’t have written those words. Tyelpë, I want you. Please tell me if there’s even a tiny chance of starting our relationship anew. I give myself to you. Let me serve you like a good Maia I am._

The silver pen was in his hand already. He felt he couldn’t wait; he knelt down on dusty soil and used the bench as a table. There he wrote his reply on the other side of the paper with the silver pen. The moonlight illuminated his writing:

_Mairon – I can’t delay this any longer. I will come to visit you; I just have to arrange some things here in Tirion first. I need to see you. I want to touch you and know that you’re real. I need to trust in you. Yes, trust. We have to build it again. I believe it’s possible, but we really need to talk._

_The king and some others know now about our correspondence. I’m worried. The king wants to meet you. They don’t understand._

_My beautiful Maia, I wish my lips could kiss you now._

_C_

At home, Khâu was faithfully waiting for him. The crow had found the nuts Celebrimbor had left for it.

“If only you had come straight here,” he muttered at the crow, but he couldn’t be angry with it. He read the rest of Mairon’s letter. It sounded like he was still avoiding others who lived at Aulë’s halls. Celebrimbor couldn’t blame him. It had to be hard for everyone. It was good that Aulë had taken him under protection. Did the Vala see it his responsibility? Celebrimbor wasn’t sure how the Valar saw the world. They were so otherworldly; their motives sometimes hard to understand. What was the nature of the relationship between them and their Maiar? While living in Middle-earth, Celebrimbor hadn’t given the question a lot of thought, but here it couldn’t be avoided. You could see Maiar everywhere, representing their Masters. They talked about serving; it seemed to be in their nature.

_Let me serve you like a good Maia I am._

Celebrimbor hoped he could have read Mairon’s silvery words again, but it was getting late and he wanted to send his letter back as soon as possible. In his haste, he had written his moon-script reply on Mairon’s letter; now he realised he had to send it away. Fortunately he had memorized Mairon’s words. He draw a tiny crescent moon in the corner of the empty-looking backside of the letter, implying that there was more than met the eye. He was sure Mairon would notice it. Mairon always noticed tiny details like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments always make me happy! Next chapter will be from Mairon's POV.


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